


Hidden Desire

by Nicholas_Lucien



Series: Myths and Art [1]
Category: Forever Knight
Genre: Art, Case Fic, Greco-Roman Myth, Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Painting, Reconciliation, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 16:11:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8408137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicholas_Lucien/pseuds/Nicholas_Lucien
Summary: LaCroix discovers Nick has one specific desire and wants Nick to act on it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PJ1228](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PJ1228/gifts).



> I do not own these characters and is not intended to infringe upon any copyright owners. No profit is being made from this work.
> 
> Painting and sculpture described are original works except for the small reproduction statue of Apollo and Daphne, which was originally created by Gian Lorenzo Bernini. This statue can be found in Nick's loft on the table near the phone in Season 2.
> 
> Story includes references to multiple quotations:  
> "There are two kinds of secrets. The ones we keep from others and the ones we keep from ourselves." - Frank Warren  
> "There are some secrets which do not permit themselves to be told. ... mysteries which will not suffer themselves to be revealed." - Edgar Allen Poe, The Man of the Crowd  
> "Each flees its own enemies.” [Explaining Apollo's chase and Daphne's flight in terms of a predator/prey relationship] - Ovid, Metamorphoses  
> "Let me be free of this man ..." - Myth of Apollo and Daphne  
> "Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned." - William Congreve, The Mourning Bride

Nick woke suddenly, his heart beating faster than normal.  He sat up quickly, the sheet that had been covering him flowed down his chest to pool on his lap.  The dream was intense, and one he had not experienced in a long while.  He leaned forward, closed his slate blue eyes, and pushed the palms of his hands against his eyelids in the vain attempt to stop the all too familiar images that continued to flicker past him.  

 _He saw the flow in the blood vessels just under the skin surface.  The thin barrier needed only to be easily pierced through …._  

With a snarl, Nick quickly launched out of bed and headed down to the fridge.  He nearly ripped the door off the hinge in his drive to get to his bottles of bovine blood within.  Reaching past Natalie’s protein shakes, he captured one cold green bottle, pulled the cork out with his fang and spat the object away, and emptied out the animal blood before he felt himself begin to calm down.  Holding the drained bottle loosely by its neck, Nick let that arm dangle by his side while he put his other arm against the open fridge door and dropped his forehead on the limb.  The weight of his body upon the door finally swung it closed, and he staggered forward so he could continue to lean on the black appliance, its low steady hum comforting.  The sound was something constant he could concentrate on while his heart rate finally returned back to normal.    

With LaCroix settled in Toronto, and therefore in relatively constant close proximity, it was inevitable he would react to his maker’s presence, bringing up to the surface so many thoughts, and finally, these suppressed images and desires.  He needed to get back in control and re-bury this; it was something he couldn’t have anymore, Nick reminded himself.  Though it hurt, he pushed his need back down again.  When he felt more in control, he propelled himself off the refrigerator, rinsed out the bottle in the sink, then headed off to take a shower and begin his night.  

Nick meticulously dressed, put on his gun holster and jacket, got in the Cadillac, and left for work.  As he drove, he dismissed the idea of just quitting and leaving his life to run from his maker again.  He liked it here, and he liked the people here, who accepted him.  Well, various parts of him.  And then there was Natalie, who knew more of him than many mortals ever did, even those he considered very close friends.  She was more than his doctor and more than his friend; she was special to him - not that he had told her exactly how special she was.  Natalie was someone who knew first what he was, then who he was, and offered to help him.  Nick knew his time in each moral life would be short, had to be short, but he did not need to make the transitory life shorter than necessary.  He didn’t want to make his time with Natalie any briefer than necessary.  As he waited at a red light he resolved to simply keep his sire away from him and his life as much as possible, despite their complicated relationships in the past.       

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

LaCroix was already awake, his evening having started when the sun was still high above.  He had already completed a number of activities and was currently going through some mind-numbing paperwork for the radio station, though his attention was not really on the forms.  He was concentrating on the much more important thread-like connection he had with his favorite child.  Nicholas had been hurting lately.  Not that this, in and of itself was unusual, it was simply stronger than usual.  LaCroix could always sense the accumulated weight of Nicholas’ feelings of guilt, stress, and hunger.  LaCroix shook his head; Nicholas continued to deny his most basic need and attempted to subsist on low quantities of inferior diet, believing that would help.  The truth his son refused to accept was that the choice simply made Nicholas weaker and less able to properly control and manage the other concerns he deliberately surrounded himself with.  When would his son ever learn and stop such useless deprivation, LaCroix wondered.  He had tried so many times in the past to tell Nicholas the folly of that action, but it had been a very long time since his son had heeded his words.  LaCroix doubted his son would listen now if he went over to talk to him, though he knew Nicholas at least listened to his broadcasts.  Perhaps he would make his next lesson about not denying and suppressing dietary needs and the consequences when control would inevitably be lost. 

To delay himself from returning to the paperwork in his hands, LaCroix closed his ice blue eyes.  Using one of the innate abilities all his kind had, he sensed the light outside and felt the sun beginning to finally set.  He knew if he went to the shuttered windows and looked out he would see a sky showing the almost imperceptible color transformation as the bright day began its conversion into the darker night.  Unbidden, an old memory surfaced: the image of Helios driving across the sky his four winged fire-horses harnessed to the chariot of the sun, to finally enter the ocean world at the day’s end.  LaCroix would welcome the moment when the chariot would finally dip beyond the western horizon and he could safely go out into the darkened world.  Mortals could have their day, he preferred the night.    

Without warning, LaCroix experienced a burst of strong desire resonating through his link with his son.  He opened his eyes when the emotion finally receded.  LaCroix laid the papers and pencil down next to him on the leather couch he was sitting on, and focused on what he just learned.  He had not been aware that Nicholas, after all this time, still had that particular desire, and so intensely.  He needed to think about what he had picked up, and how to proceed with this opportunity he did not think he could have again.  LaCroix was surprised, and he was not often surprised, that Nicholas had been able to hide this so completely from him for so long.  But then, LaCroix mused, Nicholas tended to be the only constant source of surprises for him.  He leaned back into the black leather cushion, staring at the painting above his fireplace; he would need to carefully consider his options and approach this time. 


	2. Chapter 2

The next night Nick was driving the Caddy to check with Natalie at the coroners building.  She had her final report on the body found two nights ago, and he and Schanke needed that to hopefully close the case.  Schanke was in the passenger’s seat, but they were both silent.  Too many cases were ending up with no resolution and this current one was looking to be in the same pile unless Natalie had found something useful.  Since neither of them had any new thoughts on these cases, there was no reason to talk. 

Schanke scrutinized Nick; his partner had been very withdrawn and stressed lately, and that meant he didn’t talk much.  Don couldn’t take the silence between them any longer and switched on the Caddy’s radio.  Knowing it was probably tuned to that weird talk show didn’t discourage him, as that was probably better than the lack of any communication they were currently doing.  The Nightcrawler’s voice, surprisingly intimate considering it was being broadcasted over the air, filled the void in the car.  

 _“I have been pondering lately on secrets and other suppressed thoughts, and I found myself considering which was worse: the truths we try to keep from others, or the ones we try to keep from ourselves?  I am told there are some secrets which do not permit themselves to be told.  These hidden truths will not suffer themselves to be easily revealed, so they keep themselves locked inside.  However, I have found that this results in great distress because denied desires can be anguish, clawing and gouging you from the inside outward.  Whether you realize this is occurring or not, it is still hurting you.  And this will affect not only you but those around you, in time.  There is no good reason for this to continue.  Release these truths; accept them and free yourself, liberate yourself.  I promise you, it will be better when you do.  So tell me, my gentle listeners, my eternal companions, my suffering children, what do you have hidden?  What are you holding in so close that it incessantly gnaws at you so?  What did you bury behind your façade?  Your frustrations?  Your fears?  Your regrets?  Your guilt?  Or perhaps in this tame modern civilization, these boxes of steel, brick, and glass we voluntarily cage ourselves in, what you are hiding, what you are suppressing, are all your basic, instinctual drives and desires.  Today, where is your natural side to go?  Your need to run free?  To simply survive off what the land provides?  To hunt?  To catch your prey?”_

Silence.

 _“Or maybe your basic desire is for love.  Your love for that special woman, the-”_

Nick clicked the radio off.  “Hands off the radio.” 

“I thought you liked listening to that guy.” 

“Not right now.”  Nick looked over at Schanke, seeing his partner’s dejection.  “Look, Schanke, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to snap at you.”  

Schanke glanced at Nick.  His partner did seem genuinely sorry.  “Hey, it’s okay, partner.  Everyone’s under a lot of pressure right now.  I’m sorry for not asking first.”  His partner looked distracted again, neither accepting nor rejecting his apology.  It was like Nick wasn’t even here anymore, but lost in his own thoughts again.  Schanke thought about the expression he saw on his partner’s face when love had been mentioned; it was the same look he had sometimes observed on Nick when Natalie was around.  Schanke thought, as he often did, perhaps there was something between them, something they should pursue.  

Nick continued to drive in silence; eventually, he pulled up to the building and parked out front.  “Let’s go see what Natalie found.”  Walking through the corridors, Nick tried to put LaCroix’s words out of his mind. 

Two hours later he and Schanke were back at their desks in the squad room.  Natalie’s reports did shed some extra light on that case, and Nick found himself putting the file in its own lonely pile of closed cases. 

Schanke looked at his partner.  “It does feel good to close one out.  Now, on to the next ones.”  He slapped his hands together, quickly rubbing the palms against one another.  “I’m feeling lucky, like we could get these all closed soon.”  

“Yeah,” Nick responded absentmindedly.  He reached for another buff-colored manila case file and opened it, then leaned over his desk to read the papers inside.  He reached over to grab one of his sharpened pencils, knowing he would need it soon. 

“You’re thinking of something.” 

Nick recalled himself to the present and looked up.  “No; nothing important.”  Schanke stared at him.  “It’s nothing.” 

“It’s not _nothing_ , Knight.  You are thinking about what the guy on the radio said, aren’t you?” 

“What makes you think that?” Nick asked defensively.  

“You may forget, but I’m an experienced detective, partner.  I do have eyes; I notice things.  You’ve been awfully quiet since the radio was on.”  

“We were quiet before the broadcast.”  Nick, considering the matter over and hoping Schanke would take the hint, looked down again at the papers from the open folder.  This particular case was about the death of a department head at a small university.  There were still so many more people to interview for this case and alibis to check out and confirm.  Nick was trying to concentrate on his interview notes, scratching a few extra notations with his pencil next to the original text.  

“Yeah, but not like you are now.”  Schanke paused to watch Nick write.  “You’re avoiding something.  What?  Did the Nightcrawler wiggle into your mind and remind you of something?”  Don didn’t know why, but that radio host seemed to be the only one who could always get to Nick. 

Nick brought his head up sharply, losing his train of thought about the case and unintentionally pushed the pencil into the desk, breaking the pencil in half and putting a gouge into the desk blotter.  “No.  Just drop it.  Okay?”  Nick reminded himself to be more careful with his strength and sharpened the remains of the pencil again, ignoring the image of a sharpened stake that always came to mind.  

Schanke shook his head.  He thought again about the look Nick had right before switching off the radio.  Maybe his partner was realizing he wasn’t getting any younger and should find someone and settle down.  “He had a point about needing love.  I tell ya, my life really improved when I met Myra.  My whole world lit up like a summer’s day when she was with me.”  He pointed his finger at Nick.  “Trust in my greater experience with this Nick: you should find someone who does that for you.  Bring in a little sunshine into your life; you’ll be amazed at what will happen.”  His partner shot him an angry expression right after that last comment.  Don ignored it.  “What about Natalie?” he gently prompted.  “You two seem to get along great.” 

Nick tensed and leaned back into his chair as if to distance himself from his memory.  He remembered their most recent discussion about the amount of his blood intake.  The talk had not ended well; probably … mostly … due to his over-reaction, if he was to be honest with himself.  Natalie was just trying to help him, after all.  She just didn’t understand how revolting those shakes tasted to him; as bad as cow blood was compared to human, it was better than those concoctions.   

Don picked up on his partner’s agitation.  Maybe something had happened he didn’t know about.  “Then let me have Myra set you up with a nice woman; she’s really good at that.  She’s already been thinking about you and has some ideas.” 

Nick leaned forward across his desk.  “Schanke, just let it go.” 

“Fine,” Schanke uttered, as he picked up and handed the recently-closed case file to Nick.  “Then that means you are doing the final report for this one.”  

Nick grabbed the folder and all the notes.  “Fine.”  At least mind-numbing paperwork would definitely keep LaCroix’s words out of this thoughts.  

A couple days later Nick found himself walking into the CERK radio station during a quick break to talk with LaCroix.  Voluntarily.  Well, close enough anyway.  He peered through the corridor window, finding the elder vampire at the desk, speaking into the microphone.  His maker looked directly at him and beckoned him in.  Nick walked through the door as LaCroix pushed one of the buttons on his desk panel.  “I thought you were doing the show.” 

“The other listeners can wait.  I will always make time for you, Nicholas.”  An awkward silence filled the space between them.  LaCroix could almost physically see what he was picking up though their link: Nicholas was increasing his barriers to force something down.  “Since you are here on a work night I can only assume this is some urgent police matter.  Although,” he grinned as he spread his hands, “I am curious as to how you think I could possibly be of any assistance to these mortals.” 

“That’s not it.  I’m here for a different reason.” 

LaCroix raised his eyebrow as he placed his hands upon the desk, his ring making a single slight clicking sound against the surface.  “Indeed.  Then why are you here, _mon fils_?”  It was rare for Nicholas to admit anything to him so easily.  Perhaps his prior broadcast had helped his son come to terms with what he had been suppressing. 

“At work I was able to get two tickets for the Toronto Symphony Orchestra.  The concert’s tomorrow night.” 

A figurative olive branch, LaCroix thought.  A pleading for peace and reconciliation.  Music had always been an activity they had shared together in the past.  He leaned back in his chair, hands dropping into his lap, now very interested in what else his son had so say about this concert.  

Nick continued since it was clear LaCroix was not going to say anything.  “And someone else can’t go, but I still am and I didn’t want to be alone.”  He still didn’t know how his name had been submitted for the tickets, but he had a suspicion it might have been Schanke since his partner’s first reaction had been to encourage him to ask Natalie.  She had planned on going but a last minute schedule change meant she couldn’t, but she had still insisted that he attend since he enjoyed music so much.  

Staked by the figurative olive branch.  “So I am … second … choice?”  LaCroix narrowed his eyes in irritation: knowing Nicholas considered him after a mortal was dissatisfying. 

Nick looked around, anything to not meet LaCroix’s irritated gaze.  Centuries of experience with that look taught him he had better give an answer.  Truthful answers were always the preferred form, especially when it could be easily and quickly verified.  “Not exactly.  I asked Janette, but when I told her the composer she said no.  But I owed her a few favors and she called them in.  So here I am.” 

“For what reason, since it appears you do not wish to be here with me?”  He could feel the tension increasing between them.  

“Janette wants me to spend time with you,” Nick forced himself to say.  “She thinks it would be a … good idea.  So we can work through some of our conflicts under the calming influence of our favorite pieces.”  He personally doubted a little extra time would accomplish much resolution between them; there was, after all, centuries of conflicts.  Nick finally looked at his sire, meeting those ice blue eyes.  The expression on LaCroix’s face was completely unreadable, which was not necessarily a good reaction.  “If you don’t want to go, I understand.  I could always give the tickets to someone else.”  He would also feel better not spending time around LaCroix.  His maker’s physical presence made too many conflicting emotions and thoughts rise to the surface, but he had promised Janette he would try. 

The impaled figurative olive branched was twisted.  “No need for that, Nicholas.  We would not want to disappoint Janette now would we?  I will accept your … let us be generous and call it a _friendly invitation_.  I would dislike being considered an obligation.”  LaCroix pulled out a piece of paper and jotted down an address.  “Meet me here.”  Smiling, he handed the paper to his son.  “Will you also be taking me out for dinner?” 

Nick accepted the note.  “I think not,” he dryly stated.


	3. Chapter 3

The next evening Nick jerked awake from his sleep, fangs bared.  He tried to calm down, but to no avail; the dream was still with him.  Nick closed his eyes and concentrated on forcing himself to relax, but the dream intruded again.  

 _He was in bed, his lover’s arms encircled him, cradled him.  He stretched to kiss the base of his lover’s neck, then reached up higher to bite.  He saw the flow in the blood vessels just under the skin surface.  The thin barrier needed only to be easily pierced through, and then the blood flow could begin.  Fangs fully descended, the need to bite was so …._  

Nick opened his green-flecked golden eyes, growling.  There was only one way to end this now that it had progressed this far: he had to bite through something immediately.  He placed his right wrist near his fangs and bit; it was only his own skin and blood, but it was better than nothing.  Nick closed his eyes, retracted his fangs as he pulled them out of his flesh, and let his arm drop back down onto the bed.  He felt the twin wounds heal as all the various tissues quickly rebuilt and finally seal the punctures.  Attending tonight’s concert with LaCroix was going to be stressful enough, he did not want this coming to the surface again.  He laid there and did not move until he was completely composed again.  

Nick rolled out of bed, showered and dressed casually for the concert, then went back downstairs to feed his beast its small allocation of cold animal blood.  Natalie’s newest regiment called for strict, precise amounts of blood and not a single drop more.  He poured his permitted portion into a graduated cylinder to measure, then drank.  He could already tell that amount was not going to be enough for tonight.  Nick drank straight from the bottle, emptying it; he completely ignored the blood-substitute protein shake he was expected to drink.  He would endure Natalie’s disappointment about his decision later, if she found out. 

Somewhat fortified, Nick flew to the address LaCroix had given him as soon as the sun had set.  The address was to a high-rise downtown and Nick waited in the outside corridor until the door was opened and his sire admitted him into the two-story penthouse flat.  

“Come in, Nicholas.  There is still a little time before we have to depart for the concert.”  LaCroix walked away from Nicholas, going deeper into the home.      

Nick walked after his sire.  He shook his head at what he was hearing through the speakers in the flat.  There were not that many individuals who would get ready for a classical music concert by listening to rock music.  He saw the stairs which most likely led up to the bedroom and bath, while the lower floor was mostly open living space and windows which overlooked part of the city.  There was one room to the side, its door closed.  Various pieces of art were orderly arranged throughout the whole space.   

As Nick walked further into the room he tried to keep a wary eye on his maker, but his curiosity was too great and he instead looked around at the art.  LaCroix always had exceptional taste in art, a passion that his sire had personally cultivated and encouraged in him.  Their tastes, over the centuries, had become quite eclectic as they picked up new ideas and art as they traveled through places and time.  Usually, they were in agreement in the styles, which occurred when Nick and his maker lived together.  When they separated, their styles would diverge.  On those occasions when they came back to each other, they would assess each other’s newest artistic selections.  Usually, they would find that their choices had complemented each other.  Then they would merge again until they would split, then new choices were made, then rediscover each other when they came back again.  

Surveying the area Nick felt that this current collection was in very restrained tastes: monochromatic, smooth, and cold.  Polished marble statues stood on pillars, or if large enough, placed directly upon the floor; smaller ones were placed on tables.  Adorning the walls were chiaroscuro style art, their high contrast between light and dark reflected in the various paintings and in the gray-scale photographs that were sandwiched between sheets of glossy clear glass.  He recognized many classic forms across the art, along with some modern themes tossed in, and many references to Greco-Roman myths, a favorite theme of LaCroix’s.  There were also some bare portions of the wall or a pillar with nothing on it; those were most likely areas waiting for a new acquisition.  All in all, an interesting collection, Nick concluded.   

Nick thought about times in the past when his sire had wanted to go see a particular work and had desired his input.  Many times since entering the home he found himself wanting to discuss these pieces, especially a few he liked, but constantly stopped himself.  The days of artistic opinions between them were long gone.  He was here only as a favor to Janette.  

LaCroix had been very much aware of the alternating feelings of anxiousness and interest coming through from his link with Nicholas since arriving tonight, which added to the already present sense of something trying to rise up but was being pushed back down.  All of this combined and was putting Nicholas on edge.  “You need to calm down, Nicholas.  Have you fed tonight?”  Nicholas did not answer.  LaCroix went over to a cupboard and pulled out a small crystal wine glass and then retrieved a bottle of human blood mixed with alcohol.  He poured some into the glass and handed it to his son, partially surprised that Nicholas took the offered libation without protestation.  Once Nicholas drank the liquid, he took the glass back.  The drink did appear to have a slight calming effect. 

Nick continued to look around, looking for something to distract him from his thoughts; his gaze landed on an interesting, albeit strange black polished stone statue on a table and he walked over to it.  “What is this?”  The statue was of a body with two heads, four arms, and four legs.  The heads were separating, tearing away from each other, and the split was progressing downward into the chest area.  The implication of the rift being that the rotund body would eventually be fully separated, forming two completely normal people. 

LaCroix felt his son’s reserve begin to relax; art had always had a calming influence on Nicholas.  “I recently acquired that one.”  He moved instantly to be near Nicholas’ side.  “A modern interpretation of an old Greek myth.  The legend stated that humans were all originally created this way: doubled up.  But Zeus, fearing their power and angry at their pride, had them split into two.  Eventually, the humans longed for their missing partner and sought them out.  Once their match was found, the pair would feel such overwhelming joy at their reunion, their love fusing their … souls … back together.”  LaCroix grinned.  “Of course, the only way to achieve that was through sexual union.” 

Nick turned, and saw a more familiar piece hanging on the wall.  

“Remember when I procured that piece, Nicholas?” 

Nick smiled, the memory of a pleasant time with LaCroix occupied his thoughts.  “That night was ….” 

LaCroix cocked his head slightly.  He felt some of the barriers in his son loosening more.  “Yes?” 

Nick became serious, his smile fading.  “Long ago,” he finished. 

LaCroix looked critically at Nicholas, saddened that his child was deliberately forcing barricades within himself.  His son needed to talk about what was bubbling inside him.  He decided to be a little more open with Nicholas.  A risky move, knowing how his favorite currently reacted when he learned something had slipped through their link.  “Nicholas, something has been on your mind lately.  I have been sensing a-” 

“I’m not having sex with you,” Nick hastily stated. 

LaCroix arched his eyebrow, while the silence continued to lengthen. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“So you do want to?”  LaCroix waited for a response, but none came.  Nicholas was becoming even more agitated, and LaCroix could feel the barriers reinforcing even more.  “I admit I find it interesting that our past relationship has been on your mind.” 

“That’s in the past, LaCroix.  A very old memory.  Let’s just leave and go to the concert.”  

LaCroix nodded his head, content to wait, for now.  Clearly, Nicholas did not want to talk about it and he did not want to push too hard; Nicholas was too agitated and may decide to completely retreat and leave.  His son had at least come this far and was still willing to spend some time with him, even if only as an owed favor for Janette.  There was no advantage to pushing at this point.  “If that is what you wish, then let us away.” 

They flew together under the cloudless sky, arriving at the sloping glass and steel Roy Thomson Hall a few minutes before the concert was to begin.  They walked down the carpeted aisle and took their balcony seats in the upper back row of section C8, seats 7 and 6.  

“I do miss the old days, with better seating accommodations,” LaCroix lamented. 

“Well, we are the only ones in these last rows, which makes us somewhat secluded.  And the exit is right behind this back wall if you find this too intolerable and feel the need to leave.”  At least the remaining time spent together tonight would not involve much actual interaction.  His maker’s physical presence had too much of an effect on him, Nick thought; the music would be a good distraction. 

Instead of responding, LaCroix leaned forward in his seat, squinting.  “You can barely see the musicians from here.”  

Nick leaned his head back on the chair and closed his eyes.  “You don’t need to see the instruments to hear and feel the music.” 

The lights dimmed and the concert began.  They sat in silence until intermission, when LaCroix resumed talking while the other patrons were getting some refreshments.  “They really need to correct the acoustics in this auditorium.  How are the violinists to be fully appreciated in this state?”  He turned to his right to face Nicholas.  His son had not moved and his eyes were still closed. 

Nick had found himself relaxing in response to the music, remembering other concerts at other times when he had enjoyed listening with his sire for company.  They had heard these particular pieces many times, and Nick found himself wanting to ask LaCroix’s opinion, but stopped himself.  “Just enjoy the concert, LaCroix.  The sound is better than some of the old theaters we had attended.” 

LaCroix smiled as an old memory came to the fore.  “Remember when I was attempting to instruct you on playing the violin?” 

Nick slightly smiled.  “I recall you were more interested in my technique than in the music I was creating.” 

“Technique is as important as what you are playing.” 

“I finally stopped because of your nagging about my wrist position.” 

“You did bend it inward too much; it should have been straighter.  And your posture would have been greatly improved.” 

Nick opened his eyes, tilted his head, and gazed at his sire.  “Just as well I eventually turned to playing the piano instead,” he stated. 

LaCroix smirked.  “Our duets did become more interesting then; the two instruments being a delightful complement to each other.” 

Nick rolled his head back to its original position on the seat back, and closed his eyes.  Their silence returned as most of the other people came back to their seats.  The mortals talked while they waited for the musicians to reappear upon the stage.  No matter the language, thought Nick, human voices seemed to combine into a similar undulating wave of background noise.  Once the auditorium lights dimmed the concert resumed, the remaining voices receded, and he let the music envelop him.  

LaCroix looked over at Nicholas, who had closed his eyes again; his protégé did seem more relaxed now, his barriers not as fortified as before.  He remembered that desire he had found in Nicholas’ thoughts and their conversation at his place.  Not too quickly, he gently placed his right hand on Nicholas’ left knee.  Nothing happened for a long time, then Nicholas placed a hand upon his.  A small fissure of tingling pleasure ran up LaCroix’s arm due to that tactile stimulus.  He waited a few minutes, not moving.  Then, very slowly, LaCroix slid his hand up Nicholas’ leg.  He encountered no resistance to his movement until half-way up the thigh.  Then, quite suddenly, Nicholas tensed, emitted a quiet low growl, grabbed his hand and placed it upon his own upper thigh.  LaCroix waited, concerned at what else Nicholas would do because of his advances.  Perhaps Nicholas really was not ready for this yet.  However, nothing else happened.  Nicholas did not even retract his hand, which was once again relaxed gently on top of his own.  So they stayed like that for the remainder of the concert.  When the lights came back on after the performance, LaCroix turned to face Nicholas.  His son seemed conflicted. 

“I ….”  Nick squeezed LaCroix’s hand, then got up and quickly exited the auditorium.  

LaCroix rose and followed him, catching up with him outside.  “Nicholas.”  His son stopped.  “I hope that did not change what you are allowing yourself to feel.” 

Nick turned around to face LaCroix.  He knew physically being around LaCroix would have an effect on him; even the way his maker said his name affected him.  “The feelings were nice; reminded me of some of the better times from long ago.”  

LaCroix looked around at the departing people.  “Perhaps we should leave as well.  Would you care to return to my place?  We could discuss anything on your mind over a good vintage.” 

Nick’s reserve returned.  Promises to Janette aside, perhaps attending the concert had still been a bad idea.  There was a reason, after all, he had left LaCroix the last time, vowing he would never go back and sticking with it this time.  As pleasant as being with LaCroix could be when pursuing shared interests, he had enough recollections to know how things usually ended with his sire.  “No, but thank you for coming.  I will see you later.”  He took off, headed to the Raven and, ultimately, to Janette. 

LaCroix nodded and was not surprised by Nicholas’ abrupt departure.  He had thought that sharing their matched passion for art would help Nicholas.  Art had always brought them together when nothing else would.  But their recent relationship had not been as acrimonious as times in the past.  Perhaps he had pushed too hard.  Bringing to the surface a nice feeling was quite different from freeing and raising Nicholas’ passionate desire, after all.  But he had always enjoyed a challenge. 


	4. Chapter 4

After the quick parting the previous night, LaCroix decided he needed to talk with Nicholas before his son left to immerse himself in his mortal job.  He chose to have this conversation at Nicholas’ loft; it would make his son more comfortable to be in his own place.  As he approached the bricked warehouse from the roof, he heard music.  LaCroix shook his head.  There were not that many individuals who could have such an eclectic taste in music.  Nicholas was listening to modern rock music while he played the pieces from last night’s concert.  He listened for a while, hearing his son eventually blend the two styles together into something completely new, yet with elements from both.  He marveled as he always did; it was one thing to collect art, it was another to be able to create the art, and Nicholas could always create the most amazing art.  Though it was a clash to hear the piano music play over what was coming from the speakers.  He knew his son well enough to know Nicholas was probably so engrossed and focused on his playing that he did not even hear the discord. 

LaCroix quietly dropped through the loft’s skylight, and after reconfirming Nicholas was still not aware of his presence, surveyed the décor from his position behind the leather couch.  Similar to his place, art could be found everywhere, but not as constrained.  Here it was liberated randomly upon tables, shelves, walls, leaning against the walls, and tucked away in corners.  Complementary to his collection, Nicholas’ was full of a range of colors and many different types of textures and designs, with pieces from throughout history.  They always did complement each other, in all things; overall, an interesting eclectic collection, he thought.  It was always amusing and insightful to see where his son’s artistic tastes went when they were separated.  LaCroix frowned; there were way too many sun images for his personal comfort; he did not find that amusing at all.  Nevertheless, Nicholas seemed to prefer it this way, for now.  

LaCroix scrutinized the area, searching for familiar pieces; Nicholas was constantly changing the art he surrounded himself with and there were slight differences since the last time he was here.  The elder vampire smiled at a few of the statues he recognized, surprised Nicholas still kept them, given their current relationship.  He was aware when the piano music had stopped and the stereo had been remotely turned off.  Nicholas had apparently finally figured out he was there.  

“What are you doing here?” 

LaCroix glanced over at Nicholas, who now stood not too far from him.  “I see you still have that statue of Apollo and Daphne I gave you after our last parting.” 

Nick looked at the cream-colored statue, which was currently near his phone on the table behind the leather couch.  The little statue showed the god Apollo forever chasing behind and attempting to hold onto Daphne, who in turn was eternally undergoing her metamorphosis from a female nymph into a tree.  “Yes,” Nick agreed.  He had kept that statue for so many conflicting reasons, and found over the decades he simply could not part with it.  “Poor Daphne.  Turned into a tree in order to escape Apollo.  A fine example of the prey fleeing its predator.”  

“Apollo wanted only to love her,” LaCroix retorted.  “He had clearly demonstrated his affection, but she ran away, evading him.  But he gave her a precious gift anyway by making the tree immortal, never to age or decay.”  He paused.  “Apollo would welcome her back if she would recognize her folly at rejecting what he offered, and stopped trying to be something different than what she truly is.”  

“Yes,” Nick hesitantly responded.  “That is one, unique, way to view the story.”  He thought for a moment.  He looked again at the statue.  “It didn’t look like she believed him, though.  Her words during her conversion seem to be very clear on the matter: ‘Let me be free of this man.’” 

“Would you want to be, honestly?”  

Nick brought his eyes up from the statue and stared seriously at LaCroix.  “We have been through this before, LaCroix.  I do not enjoy your hunting games.”  Nick paused.  “And I will not be your prey,” he venomously rumbled. 

LaCroix was taken aback at the barely contained anger of that last statement and what was reverberating through their mental link.  He had unmistakably struck the still-raw nerve; they definitely needed to address this.  “A man once said that Heaven has no rage like the love that had twisted and turned into hatred,” he countered back. 

“Nor does Hell have anything like the fury of a … man … scorned,” Nick completed the phrase.  “Yes, he was right.  We do reserve some of our greatest hate for those whom we used to have the greatest love for.”  

LaCroix could feel the friction between them escalating.  “We do still have a habit of igniting each other, don’t we?  First passion flares, then tempers.”  LaCroix grinned.  “Sometimes in the reverse.” 

Nick had no interest in continuing this and wanted the conversation to end.  “I have to go to work.”  He indicated the skylights.  “You can stay, or you can leave.”  He knew his maker enough to know LaCroix went where he wanted to go; doors and locks had no meaning to him.  His sire would remain or depart as he desired.  

“And if I want to stay?”  The silence dragged out.  “Nicholas, we need to discuss this feeling.”  

“What makes you think there is anything there I really want to act upon?”  Nick tried his best to not let his buried desire betray him.  

LaCroix moved so he was directly in front of the younger man, less than a foot of space separated them.  “Nicholas, I know what I experienced from you.  I did not realize you still had such intense feelings for-” 

“I’m late in leaving.”  

LaCroix sighed.  He reached out with the intent to lightly touch the fingers of Nicholas’ closest hand.  He could feel how hard his son was trying to deny this, and given their history, he understood.  He would have to proceed very slowly.  “Nicholas, I will always care for you.  The passing of time or our history, it does not change the fact that you are still _my_ beloved.” 

Nick gazed at the hand coming closer to him and stepped back.  “I recall you made it very clear I wasn’t anymore.”  He decided to not mention the emphasis of possession in LaCroix’s last statement.  “You said that I was-” Nick closed his eyes and took a few ragged breaths; even after all this time, he couldn’t complete that thought.  He looked at his sire again.  “You said that was what you truly desired, not me.”  

LaCroix remembered that argument, how it had escalated into him eventually saying that, and more; so much more.  “I was … not correct … in saying that.  As I recall you attacked me afterward.” 

“And I remember you more than made up for those injuries.”  That argument had been one of their worst; as soon as his wounds had healed enough for him to move, Nick had snuck out of the house and left. 

LaCroix recalled the violence he had let loose, and everything that had broken that night.  He let the tension in the room calm back down.  “It is you I desire, Nicholas,” he reiterated. 

Nick gave a small shake to his head.  He wanted to believe that, really, but he knew LaCroix.  “I don’t believe you.”  

LaCroix contained his irritation; he did not want to destroy this opportunity, one he did not think he could have again.  “Perhaps I can show you again,” he coaxed. 

Nick shook his head again   “Even if you did, and I trusted it was true, how long would it really last?  How much time before we are again at each other’s throats arguing and fighting?”                                                                                            

“I would hope we would actually begin at the throat.” 

Nick shifted uncomfortably; that was too similar to his dream.  He could tell LaCroix was feeling some of this vibrating through their link. 

“Well, I will not hold you, since you must attend your work.  I will see you later.”  LaCroix then exited in the same manner he had entered.  He now knew what his next move needed to be, and staying would just agitate Nicholas more, driving him away. 

Nick closed his eyes, glad LaCroix had finally left.  He didn’t like his desire coming this close to the surface and pushed it back down.  Nick drank more blood than he intended originally for that night, went down the lift, entered the Caddy, and he drove away. 

The next night Nick strode up to his desk to be greeted by a very excited partner who was early to work, sitting perched on the corner of his desk.  “Hi, Schanke,” he slowly said.  “What has you so excited?  And on my desk?” 

Schanke smiled, getting off the desk corner as Nick approached.  “I think you might have a secret admirer.”  He gestured to an object on Nick’s desk.  “Someone left a gift for you.” 

Nick’s gaze fell on the foreign object; it was a coffee mug.  With his left hand, he picked up the mug by the handle, turned it around, and examined everything.  It was a white ceramic mug with two simple large drawings upon the glazed surface made with what appeared to be a black permanent marker.  There was one drawing on each side. 

Schanke watched Nick’s reaction.  His partner seemed more interested in it as a specimen, or evidence in a case, than anything else.  He couldn’t contain his own curiosity anymore.  “I already looked at it.  It has a cow and a chicken on it.  Does that mean anything to you?  Makes me want dinner.” 

“No,” Nick absentmindedly corrected Schanke, “it’s actually an ox and a cockerel.”  These were some of the ancient traditional gifts given to the beloved, including even the cup itself as a way for pouring out a libation to the lover.  Nick ran his fingers lovingly across the mug, his sensitive touch receptors able to detect the difference between the smooth surface and the raised texture of the black markings as being significantly different.  “These are the gifts of love,” he whispered, remembering when LaCroix had told him about the ancient practice.  Belatedly, he realized he spoke that out loud and fervently hoped Schanke had not heard that last comment.  “Did anyone see who brought this in?”  He hoped no one had seen LaCroix doing this. 

“No, I saw no one,” Schanke responded in a flattened voice.  He quickly shook his head as if to clear it.  “It was just here.  What does it mean?” 

Nick cocked his head to one side as he set the mug back on his desk.  He pulled out his chair and sat down.  He stroked his fingers across his lips and stared at the mug for a while before answering.  “Someone wants to take me out for a drink.” 

Schanke snapped his fingers as he went to his desk to sit down.  “I knew it.  Nick, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were in love.”  The expression on his partner’s face was hard to determine, somewhere between anger, irritation, and embarrassment.  “Okay, maybe just a crush.” 

“On whom?” Nick reflexively asked before thinking, mentally chastising himself.  Schanke wouldn’t drop the matter now that an opening had been created. 

“I’m pretty good at guessing.  I’ll bet it’s that ancient history teacher you interviewed for the Duncan case.  She seemed really interested in you; wouldn’t even talk to me.” 

Nick moved his head in negation.  “No, absolutely not.  Besides, she is still a suspect in that case.” 

“What?  Are you still thinking that?  Okay, maybe not her.  How about-” 

“Schanke, just stop trying to guess.  With no note, we just don’t know.”  He did not want to try and hypnotize Schanke into forgetting with a room full of people. 

“Have you forgotten, partner?  We’re Detectives.  I could always have it dusted for prints and then Natalie might be able to tell me.”  Of course, he knew the bluff wouldn’t work if the woman wasn’t already in the system, but it was worth a try anyway.  But there might still be a good chance she was, since someone had gotten that mug to the desk unnoticed and who better than someone who worked here.  Don looked covertly around to see if anyone was watching them. 

“Have Natalie tell you what?”  Doctor Lambert had come to the police station to drop off files to various detectives and had heard her name.  She approached Schanke from behind, then stopped beside him, handing him her final report on the Duncan case.  “What’s going on?”  She glanced at Nick, who looked like he did not want her to pursue the matter.  She returned her attention to Schanke, who was a little more forthcoming. 

Don looked up at Natalie and grinned.  “Nick got a gift and we don’t know whom it’s from.” 

“It’s probably nothing,” Nick interjected.  He wanted to stop this before it got out of control.  He did not need everyone focusing this closely on his private love life.  “It’s just a coffee mug; that’s it.  It’s not important; nothing to see here.  Let’s just get back to work.”  

“And a small stuffed wolf.”  Don took a small toy that was laying on his desk and played with the little animal, wiggling it in the air.  “Since this is not important, can I have him?” 

“No,” Nick stated firmly. 

“But Wolfie looks great sitting on my desk,” Schanke half-heartedly protested. 

“Wolfie?”  Nick asked incredulously, as he reached over their adjoining desks and snatched the stuffed animal from his partner. 


	5. Chapter 5

Nick’s shift that night was very long, and he was very grateful when it finally ended.  Knocking on the door to LaCroix’s flat, he waited impatiently for it to be answered.  Once the door opened, he slid inside.  He took the stuffed animal out of his pocket and brandished it like a sword, or possibly a shield.  “A toy wolf?” 

LaCroix smiled.  “I wanted to make certain you knew that gift was from me.” 

“Who else would know that that mug meant?  Of course I knew it was from you.”  He was also still irritated LaCroix had come to his work.  He tried very hard to keep his sire separated from his life in the mortal world; the results were never pleasant when both mixed.  

LaCroix shrugged; he was enjoying the strong emotions emanating from Nicholas.  Strong emotions could trigger other desires and activities.  “You never know.  It is better to be very clear in these matters, wouldn’t you agree?”  LaCroix turned and walked away from the front door.  He could hear Nicholas’ steps as his protégé followed.  Once half-way into the main portion of the room, he pivoted to face Nicholas.  “Have you given any thought to what my gift meant?” 

Nick put the small toy animal on an empty portion of a nearby table.  “I’ve thought of nothing else my entire shift.” 

“Really?  I thought you had more of an imagination than that.”  LaCroix closed the distance between them.  “I am concerned, Nicholas.  You look tired and very deficient.”  He put his hand on Nicholas’ chest, pressing gently against the gray cloth and buttons.  “And your heart is beating faster than normal.” 

“That only happens with you,” Nick let slip.  

“I am flattered,” LaCroix crooned. 

Nick knew his maker’s physical presence alone could be enthralling, but that touch far too easily called up his own desires, which were harder to keep down when he wasn’t fully fed.  He found himself wanting to put his own hand over the one LaCroix had on his chest, wanting to lean against his former lover.  But instead he backed up, and LaCroix’s hand dropped, breaking their contact.  They needed to talk.  “Simply giving me a gift, LaCroix, it will not make me forget everything that has happened between us.”  

The elder vampire knew Nicholas was hesitant and conflicted; his son’s true desire was constrained and contained by years of their many furious clashes in the past.  After their last break, LaCroix was convinced he had destroyed Nicholas’ love for him.  His favorite would usually come back after some time apart, or LaCroix would go and find him, but this last time Nicholas had not returned, and would not even talk with him.  He had given up on the passion believing it gone, and concentrated only on convincing his son to stop rejecting his gift and to abandon the useless search for mortality.  But that desire apparently was not gone.  Nicholas, LaCroix had finally realized, had instead hidden it; hidden the hurt of his unrequited love behind other pains so LaCroix could not tell it was there until a small part of it accidentally slipped out.  Nicholas had spent too many decades hiding it and suppressing it to immediately let it all out.  But the desire was coming up; that could not be ignored.  And after all this time, Nicholas was now willing to consider talking, which was an improvement.  To help calm his son and show no harm was intended, LaCroix allowed feelings of reassurance to quietly resonate through their connection.  

“Part of me still hates you,” Nick stated after the silence had dragged out for a considerable period of time.  

Which meant another part did not, LaCroix thought.  

Nick let a portion of his anger vibrate through their connection.  “The things you said to me, the things you did; you hurt me.”  He hesitated, remembering the hours it had taken to heal from that fight.  After their last argument, Nick had thought LaCroix’s desire for him was over, so he buried his broken love as far down as he could so he would never be hurt like that again and he had left, putting distance between them so the desire would stay down easier.  Nick had thought LaCroix’s pursuit of him afterward was just another cruel game, so he continued to run.  Later confrontations with his maker were only about stopping his search for a cure or returning to a proper vampire lifestyle, so he was convinced his lover’s desire for him was completely gone.  But now, every rational thought was telling him he should leave.  Nick shook his head as if to clear it from a fog.  “This was a mistake; I shouldn’t have come.”  How could he so easily forget: there was really only one thing LaCroix ever wanted from him, ever valued in him, and he would not be that for his sire anymore.  

Before Nicholas could turn, LaCroix gently wrapped his hand around Nicholas’; their only point of physical contact, though he was continuing to send reassurance through his mental link.  “Nicholas, I know you doubt this, but I do value and desire you.”  

“You really only value hunting and killing, LaCroix.  Not this.  Stop with this game; stop playing with me.” 

He could feel Nicholas’ uncertainty, still wanting to keep the desire at bay, pushing against him.  But LaCroix knew what could help finally liberate that, what could help break some of the last barriers.  “Come with me.  There is something I want to share with you.”  LaCroix felt it was time for Nicholas to know, to see for himself what he did not believe from his sire.  Perhaps now Nicholas was open enough to be receptive to this.  He led the younger one to the room which had the shut door and, using his free hand, opened it.  

Nick allowed himself to be guided into the room.  It was a rectangular-sized windowless room, with a dark leather couch positioned against the right wall.  On the opposite wall was a gas fireplace and a red rectangular oriental rug on the floor between the fireplace and the couch.  No tables. No chairs.  Not even a lamp was present; the room was lighted by the recessed ceiling lights.  Nick looked at the walls; there were many hung paintings of all different sizes.  Colorful paintings. 

LaCroix let go of Nicholas’ hand.  He could almost feel the last barrier in his favorite begin to crumble.  “In this room I have the most unique of items, the finest and most exquisite of creations.”  

Nick shook his head in disbelief, recognizing these works he had made.  “It’s not possible.” 

“Yes,” LaCroix gently confirmed.  “These paintings allow me to always have a part of you with me.  No one else could appreciate these works like I can, with our relationship and our history together.  And how you create these: it was an ingenious idea to mix your own blood into the paints, despite that you tell these mortals that you use cow’s blood.  An eccentricity of yours; it marks all of your works.  As your maker, the only one who could detect your blood, such an integral part of yourself, on the canvas, these have the most value and meaning to me.”  

Nick walked further into the room.  He was overcome; he had always thought highly of his maker’s artistic tastes and had loved it when LaCroix valued the art he made.  To collect and keep so many together in one location was touching, something he did not expect his maker to have done, especially given their current relationship. 

LaCroix felt a change beginning in Nicholas, and as the silence lengthened, he thought of why he had begun this collection.  Their relationship had continued to deteriorate after that fight and when it had become clear that Nicholas would not be returning to him anytime soon, he began to assemble these pieces together, so a part of Nicholas would always be with him, one of his son’s best parts.  “Nicholas, I have observed and appreciated art in all its forms for almost two millennia, but I value yours the most because you create these.  Combining the best from all the centuries we spent together appreciating the arts and fusing them into your style.  I do value you, and everything you have and are capable of doing and being.” 

Nick looked around; the room was filled with pieces he had created over the centuries.  Like all his paintings, these were expressions of himself, especially when there were no words for what he felt or experienced, or words were not enough.  Some of these particular paintings he had thought were lost to time; LaCroix must have searched for them.  Many of the remaining ones were paintings he had made specifically for LaCroix, to decorate the homes they shared when they were passionately together.  Nick’s gaze eventually landed on a different piece than all the rest.  Above the fireplace was his most recent painting in this collection, made when he had been dealing with LaCroix’s relentless pursuit of him.  Nick had finished it, then had left it, along with almost everything else from that life, when LaCroix had gotten too close and he had decided to quickly leave.  

The painting was of the intertwined chase between a dog and a fox with small, bright white stars embedded in the fur of their torsos.  They were placed upon a background of the night sky.  On the left side of the canvas was the ice blue-eyed Laelaps, depicted as a bounding blue brindled greyhound, with his cream and light blue-gray fur coloration forming random swirls and stripes around the stars in the form of the constellation Canis Major.  Twisting sinuously away and just out of reach of the dog was the slate blue-eyed red-blond Teumessian fox, which contained in its fur the complementary constellation of Canis Minor.  The painting displayed the two in their paradoxical immortal struggle: the dog who never failed to capture his prey pitted against the fox who could never be captured.   

LaCroix took note that Nicholas was staring at the dog and fox painting.  He was concerned that of all the paintings in this room, that particular one held his son’s undivided attention.  Not a great reminder of their struggle through the centuries, but one they had to come to terms with.  “What are you pondering, Nicholas?” 

“How tired those creatures must be, their constellations eternally running and chasing each other throughout the night.”  Nick shook his head.  “The hunting game that will never end; it can never end.” 

LaCroix heard the odd note in his son’s words and felt agitation again through their link.  “The chase could end, Nicholas; there is no reason the pursuit needs to continue indefinitely.  If either Laelaps or the fox chose to stop, they could be together.”  He did not want his favorite to feel cornered and retreat again, seeing how he had managed to convince Nicholas to trust in his own feelings and come this far.  LaCroix went and sat on the couch, feet on the floor, and leaned against the armrest furthest away from Nicholas.  He had to be very careful at this point to not unintentionally frighten and drive Nicholas away, he could tell his son was right on the edge.  

Nick turned around from the painting when he heard the squeaking sound of leather, and faced the couch.  He shook his head again.  He knew better.  But the passionate memories couldn’t be ignored either.  If LaCroix truly didn’t care for him, his sire wouldn’t have saved all these paintings, these expressions of his creative side.  A side that had nothing to do with killing, but with passion and life.  But collecting art and giving a gift was one thing, believing LaCroix really did actually still have that desire for him was quite another. 

LaCroix sighed.  “If you truly don’t want this, it might be best to leave.”    

Nick stood his ground.  He couldn’t lie to himself; a part of him did miss LaCroix, a part that still hoped their love was not really destroyed.  “And if I want to stay?”  

“Then trust me that I am not lying and will not trick you into doing this.”  LaCroix saw the look that passed over Nicholas’ face.  Like Nicholas, he wore no jacket tonight, so he unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his right shirt sleeve and presented his forearm.  He felt Nicholas would be ready for this now, willing to consider taking this now.  “Find out for yourself.  _Boisson_ , Nicholas.”  LaCroix steadily held out his arm and closed his eyes.  He calmed his mind and put up barriers to hold back a portion of himself.  He did not want Nicholas receiving any painful memories, only pleasant ones.  He let his need and desire for Nicholas saturate his blood.    

LaCroix listened as Nicholas walked closer to him, the muffled sound of shoes on the carpet giving away Nicholas’ precise location.  The steps stopped, and he felt pressure against his right leg as Nicholas knelt down beside him on the floor.  A hand delicately touched his, fingers sliding along the back of his, then wrapping around the posterior portion his wrist.  Nicholas turned his arm over, angled and pulled it to bring it closer.  LaCroix kept himself completely still.  Nicholas let go of his arm and he felt a moment of concern, but it was quickly banished when he perceived the sensation of Nicholas’ fingers stroking along the skin above the blood vessels of his inner forearm.  Then Nicholas’ hand was back, gripping the back of his wrist while he experienced a kiss and then two sharp pinpricks that indented the skin surface.  They stayed in that halted position for what seemed like hours, then the pressure on the pinpricks increased and finally pierced through the skin, continuing through until a blood vessel was breached and the blood was tenderly sucked out.  

LaCroix uttered a slight moan as he felt both his blood and some of his mind flow outward.  His current emotions and memories entered into Nicholas and he sensed his mental link with his offspring strengthen and resonate more intensely.  Then immediately he was released.  Nicholas withdrew his fangs and hand, and the vibration of the link returned to the level that it was before all this began.


	6. Chapter 6

LaCroix kept his eyes closed as he let his arm drop back down onto the armrest.  Perhaps there was just too much history, too many walls of hurt and pain between them to let Nicholas come completely through.  He would have to try a different approach.  “Nicholas-” 

LaCroix felt a crack, then an explosion of unrestrained passion through his mental connection, the link vibrating stronger than it had in decades.  The passion he experienced coming from Nicholas was nearly equal to his own.  Intense pressure on his chest was so unexpected he recoiled backward, but that simply pushed him into the couch, it was not an escape.  He could not easily rise up as Nicholas was now sitting on his lap, straddling him and keeping him down.  LaCroix heard a low rumble, then hands were pressed upon his collar, grasping his shirt.  He felt the quick motion of material being moved in opposite directions that resulted in the popping off of the few buttons that had kept the collar closed.  The cloth was moved away just enough to expose the skin of his neck.  LaCroix kept his eyes closed so he could focus completely on what he knew was to happen next.  Nicholas’ hand moved to wrench his head to the side, while the other clutched his shoulder and pulled him slightly forward.  The sensation of the skin of his beloved’s cheek sliding along his indicated Nicholas was leaning inward to bite.  LaCroix’s body slightly shuddered when the razor-sharp fangs buried themselves into his neck, quickly piercing the vessel under the skin and extracting out his blood.  The ecstasy he experienced from simultaneously being bitten and receiving through his link Nicholas’ enjoyment in biting him was always delightfully intense.  LaCroix opened his vermillion eyes, noting that, fortunately, Nicholas’ shirt tonight did not have a collar.  He gripped the younger vampire, let his long fangs fully extend and lock into place, and then pierced the exposed neck; as he drew out the blood he completed the cycle of sharing.  

Lucien always savored the taste he experienced from his beloved: the finest intoxicating nectar, the sweetest honeyed ambrosia.  He never could quite get the ratio of wine and honey exactly correct in any mortal he prepared; only in Nicholas was the flavor perfect.  The images and emotions from his beloved’s blood and mind rushed past him in no organized state, but he knew they would not be.  Nicholas always let everything out, sharing himself completely and without reservation.  But even within this flurry he distinctly felt Nicholas’ intense love and overwhelming joy that his lover did still desire him, and still wanted him despite everything that had happened between them.  

Nick was not aware of exactly when they had rolled off the couch and landed on the rug, but he was now on his back with Lucien on top, their legs intertwined.  Before he could become completely overwhelmed by the experience of sharing themselves, Nick slid his fangs out and after a few moments, Lucien mirrored the action.  He wanted the physical contact with his lover that his sire’s black shirt was impeding.  He pushed Lucien upward and off of him just enough to grab the shirt, pull it completely loose, and tore it open.  As he pulled off the offending clothing, he felt his own shirt being likewise freed and drawn over his head.  After a complicated wiggle from both of them, the shirts were tossed away and Nick was finally able to touch skin, the last barrier between them removed, like his own mental barriers that were now gone.  As Lucien sank back down, Nick pressed as much of his exposed body against his partner’s skin as possible, and was only partially aware of the feeling near his hips that his lover was just as fully aroused as he was.  He wrapped his arms around Lucien’s lower back, sliding his hands upward and eventually running his fingers through the soft, close-cropped hair.  Pulling the head towards his, Nick kissed lips, throat, and neck, while he felt Lucien doing the same.  Simultaneously they bit each other, and again the blood flowed, sharing their mutual desire. 

After a short while, Lucien broke their connection, pulling Nicholas out as he lifted himself upward.  He could tell his crimson-eyed partner was not pleased with being disconnected and Nicholas attempted to rise up to bite again, but he gently pushed the younger vampire back down.  Running his hands through the slightly long dark blond hair, he leaned over to kiss Nicholas on the throat again before descending down the right side of his beloved’s torso.  He roughly kissed the skin, his fangs pressed against his lips, though he would sometimes slowly graze the fang itself along the skin surface without drawing blood.  He lingered in areas whenever Nicholas seemed to enjoy the sensation, then continued along.  Periodically his beloved would rise up again, and Lucien would return him back to the floor, then resume where he had left off.          

Through partially-closed eyes Nick stared at the ceiling after the last time Lucien pushed him back down, his breathing and heart rate much faster than before.  He felt Lucien’s touch continuing downward and his hips bucked when his lover’s kiss on his abdomen was right above the waistband of his pants.  Then Lucien began working his way back upward, and Nick experienced on his sensitized skin rough kisses up his left side.  He could feel his lover’s fangs press through lips and onto his skin, but when Lucien dragged the slick fang itself across the skin Nick could barely contain himself.  As always, the feel of the fang taunted him, reminded him of the fact that he wanted to use his own fangs, which tingled with his thought of piercing tissue.  He rose again and reached out to Lucien to try and connect with any portion of skin to bite, but was denied.  Again.  Thudding back down, he endured with pleasure his lover’s expert ministrations until Lucien was once again laying completely on top of him, kissing his neck.  When Nick experienced fangs scratch his neck, drawing blood and Lucien licking the wound, he made his move.  Twisting his legs with Lucien’s again, Nick grabbed the elder vampire’s wrists, pulled the arms so they stretched over their heads, and rolled over.  Nick released his hold on the arms and grabbed the back of Lucien’s head, lifting it slightly above the floor.  With a feral snarl and fueled solely by the drive to finally reconnect, Nick pierced the neck again.  He heard an answering growl and the tug on his blood and the sensation of fluid being pulled outward let him know he had also been bitten.  As he claimed Lucien’s blood, he again experienced the images, thoughts, and emotions from his lover, always so ordered and controlled.  As their blood continually mixed and cycled between them, Nick felt himself eventually merge as they became each other and for the first time in a long time, he was more than willing to completely yield to his sire and to that experience.  Nick’s last recollection before exhaustion claimed him was curling against Lucien and laying his head on his lover’s chest, his sensitive hearing detecting the faint sound of the movement of blood through the vessels, the hum comforting as he fell asleep within Lucien’s protective embrace.      

Lucien withdrew his fangs after Nicholas had done so.  He laid there with his back upon the carpet, letting Nicholas curl around him to sleep, one of his arms protectively surrounded the younger vampire.  Lucien stroked his fingers tenderly through his beloved’s hair and stared at the painting above the fireplace while he waited for Nicholas to completely fall asleep on his chest.  He slightly repositioned himself, then he too fell asleep, his last thought being that they were two immortal creatures of the night under the canvas of two immortal constellations of the night, their chase over for now.  

Late in the afternoon Nicholas partially woke up, his shifting movements having awakened Lucien.  The elder looked over: Nicholas’ face was softened by sleep and blood and no longer looked strained.  He stroked the back of his fingers across his beloved’s cheek, his finest creation leaning into the caress.  “You are looking much better now.”    


	7. Chapter 7

“You are looking much better now.” 

Nick was jolted by what Natalie had just stated.  It was exactly what LaCroix had said to him the previous week.  It was momentarily disconcerting to hear the same phrase from her. 

Natalie critically watched him.  Nick seemed distracted, even though he had been in a much better mood lately.  She glanced at the area near the freight elevator door.  Nick was painting again, so the table and easel were across from the kitchen area, and he had moved the carpet and grand piano under the main staircase.  She returned her gaze to him, noting he still had that slightly lost look he got when he was remembering something from the past.  Wanting to recall him to the present, she repeated herself.  “I said you are doing better now compared to the last time we did this check-up.”  He finally refocused on her and gave her a quick smile.  She returned the gesture with a quick one of her own. 

“That’s good to hear.”       

She scribbled some numbers on the page by her hand then put her notebook, equipment, and filled sample vials back in her bag, which was on the table next to the kitchen.  Nick was sitting in one of the chairs, she was in another opposite of him.  “I think the minimal blood intake with the new protein shake recipe is a good combination.”  She would have to run the full panel on his blood samples to see what, exactly, might have changed to account for the improvement. 

“Yeah,” Nick quickly agreed, “that sounds like it’s a good combination.” 

Natalie looked critically at him.  Nick seemed twitchy and evasive.  “You’re not drinking extra cow blood are you?”  

Nick shook his head emphatically. “Absolutely not.” 

Natalie smiled.  “Good!”  She playfully jabbed him in the shoulder.  “See, we are making progress here.”  She got up to leave Nick for the day, the sun almost ready to rise.  As she walked to the lift, she couldn’t help but want to see what he was working on.  The canvas underneath the dark sheet was too tempting.  “So what are you painting?”  She reached for the sheet. 

Nick jumped over to the easel, grabbing the sheet so it would not slide off.  “It’s still in the beginning stages.  You know, basic background paint and pencil sketches.  Nothing interesting to see actually.”  Which was not entirely accurate.  The canvas actually was almost complete, but he did not want her to see whom he had painted. 

Yes, Natalie thought, he was being very evasive.  She glanced at the worktable and behind some of the paint jars she saw something she recognized.  She reached for the item and snagged it before Nick could stop her.  She held up the white coffee mug with black animals and looked inside at the small amount of dark red liquid.  She raised her head to make direct eye contact with him.  “Nick, is this cow blood?” 

Nick partially reached for the mug and answered without thinking.  “No.” 

“Nick, tell me this isn’t human blood.”  He didn’t respond to her question fast enough.  Natalie walked quickly over to the sink to pour the blood out.  “Nick, you don’t need this,” she emphatically stated. 

“It’s not human blood.”  Nick intercepted her and successfully reclaimed back the mug without spilling any of the liquid.  He saw her shock and tried to mitigate it.  “It’s mine.  For the painting.” 

Natalie shook her head; some things were just not worth asking about.  Like her recollection that he had claimed to use cow blood to paint with, not his own.  Or like her assumption that Nick was involved with someone, most likely Janette, considering their history and his near silence on the matter after he had told her he would ask Janette to go to the concert when she couldn’t.  The painting was probably for her, and she knew enough about vampires to know Janette would not want animal blood near her.  “And on that note, I am out of here.  I don’t think I want to know any more about the painting than that.”  

Natalie made sure she had grabbed all her belongings and then walked to the lift.  When she got into the elevator she turned around; Nick was still by the sink, staring intently at her.  He really did look better; better than she had ever seen him, actually.  But a little high strung.  She slid the metal door closed and pulled the safety grille down, then waited as the lift descended.  Maybe it wasn’t just her diet regiment that was improving him, she thought.  Maybe being in a relationship had that effect on a vampire.  She would have to consider that variable when she looked over the data from Nick’s samples. 

Nick stood still as he watched Natalie close the door to leave.  He felt movement by his side and then a hand reached over and took the mug.  He turned and walked away from LaCroix, heading toward the leather couch. 

“That was close.”  LaCroix took a sip of the blood from the coffee mug, glad the contents had not been tossed down the sink.  “I thought she would never leave.”  Nicholas had asked him to go upstairs while the woman was here, and he had decided to indulge his son’s request, not realizing how long she would be there and how bored he was in waiting.  He turned and followed Nicholas back to the table where the chess board was set up, a game LaCroix had been playing against himself already in progress.  He sat down in the black leather chair; his son was already sitting on the leather couch.  He took another sip.  “I am going to assume you will not be continuing your painting tonight so I can claim this?” 

Nick gave a lopsided grin and nodded his head.  “Yeah, you can have that.” 

“I would hate to let something this precious go to waste.  When are you going to let me see what you have been working on?”  

“Later, when it is finally complete,” Nick responded.  

LaCroix made his move on the board, then leaned back to watch what Nicholas would do.  “You know, you should tell the good doctor that you are supplementing her awful diet.  You are skewing her research data; she will not be happy about that, and that will affect you.”  The impact the doctor could have on Nicholas was what most concerned him.  Her influence over his son was greater than he liked anyone, mortal or vampire, to have; only he should have that amount of impact on Nicholas.  He would not tolerate such an arrangement to continue much longer.  Nicholas finally moved a piece, and LaCroix quickly made his.  He waited again for his son to slowly move as he thought of how to resolve what was occurring and developing between Nicholas and this Natalie his child was so fond of. 

“I’ll tell Nat later.”  He moved his final chess piece, knowing he was going to lose this game he had jumped into.


End file.
